


Lukewarm Endearments at Best

by MotleyMoose



Series: Supernatural Bits [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Surprise! It's a sibling, Why does this have to be so awkward, angsty fluff, flangst, gender neutral reader, there is no good way to go about it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:54:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24830386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MotleyMoose/pseuds/MotleyMoose
Summary: Surprise! You have siblings.
Relationships: Dean Winchester x Sibling!Reader, Sam Winchester x Sibling!Reader
Series: Supernatural Bits [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/772236
Kudos: 9





	Lukewarm Endearments at Best

**Author's Note:**

> Just a normal, everyday SPN fic to give you some sort of feeling that's okay at best.

It had been a _long_ time coming.

Dad had always been a traveler. When he was home, he was a novelty to me, a stranger who was familiar yet so dang mysterious that it surprised me every single time my name came to his lips. Like, even as a little kid I didn’t think he’d know me from Adam unless I was right next to Mama.. And it wasn’t like I really _knew_ him, either. How can you know someone who’s been on the road, away from you, for most of your life? Heck, when Mama passed, I didn’t even see him for _at least_ 18 months.

Of course, he sauntered back into my life as if nothing had happened in that intervening year and a half, like I hadn’t been forced to become a responsible adult right on the cusp of 17, shirking high school, colleges and relationships in order to keep myself from drowning in debt and despair. I was angry, and I said some things I’m not proud to repeat. And like the distant, abstract saint that my father has always been, he stood there, stoically taking the tongue lashing I had saved up for him. Through all of it, I could feel my own grief growing deeper. I had lost my mother, but I realized I never really had a father to begin with. John Winchester had been a wandering canvas that I could project my ideals of fatherhood onto, and I had always been too caught up in my own little world to recognize that he was just as human as me.

Apparently a little too human. As I let my anger burn low and my voice grow quiet, Dad looked straight into my red-rimmed eyes and said he was sorry for what he was about to say. I told him that I wasn’t going to apologize for anything that I just told him, and he shook his head sadly.

“Listen, Y/N/N,” he started, and I watched as his eyes became distant and misty. “I’ve done a lot of shit I’m not proud of, and a huge part of it is how I’ve treated my family in the past.”

I snorted and began to speak, but he held up a hand to stop me. “Please, let me finish.”

“‘Kay,” I snapped.

He cleared his throat a little before continuing. “I’m not going to be around for much longer, and I want to know that, before I go, you are taken care of.”

“Oh, like you took care of me when Mama died? Thanks, but I‘m good.”

Dad flinched, his eyes darting guilty to his boots. “That couldn’t be help-”

My face grew hot. “‘Couldn’t be helped?’ Fucksake, Dad. You left us high and dry as soon as you heard the diagnosis!” I couldn’t be around him anymore, didn’t even want to be on the same planet I was so done with him. I forcefully concentrated on jamming my feet into my running shoes, fighting back the tears pressing behind my eyes. “I can’t do this anymore. I’m going for a run, see yourself out.”

I slammed the door shut behind me, and that was the last time I ever saw my father.

\-----

It wasn’t until last month that I’d read Dad had died. He’d been gone for over a decade. The obituary mentioned two surviving sons, but I was so caught up in probing the ancient scar of anger that my brain barely registered the fact. I found the old anger was weak from disuse, my coffee was cold, and I didn’t feel one damn thing either way about him. It was like reading the obits of a stranger. I felt no guilt, no anger, no grief, and I was able to quickly brush it off and carry on.

It didn’t hit me until a day later, in the middle of a crossword puzzle, that I had brothers.

After rereading Dad’s obituary, I decided to find these so-called brothers of mine. I guess I was lonely, and maybe some of the old anger was beginning to rekindle. I had a family of friends, those whom I could lean on when things got shitty, and I loved every one of them. But there was a kernel of curiosity planted in my brain, the urge to know who my brothers were and if they were anything at all like Dad… or me.

It wasn’t exactly simple to find my brothers but it wasn’t that difficult either; just like with me and Mama, Dad had set up his other family in a nice little neighborhood of a smaller city. White picket fence and everything. It didn’t last long, apparently. The house burned down with the wife still inside. But at least the kids got out alright and his precious car was saved. It was a deadend after that, no honor roll or sports write-ups mentioning a Sam or Dean Winchester could be found in any of my searches. Which was weird.

Weirder still was the FBI wanted list.

It wasn’t completely by accident that I stumbled upon Sam and Dean pouting lasciviously at the camera. Two photos, posted side by side in an archive buried under another archive stuck in a clunky footer menu. These files were hidden so deep in the government website that it took several days and one very long night to dig through all of the archived information. It was as if someone didn’t want anyone to find them. But there they were. No one could mistake the striking resemblance between me and the Winchester brothers. Same sharp nose, same alluring eyes, same crooked smile that must’ve broken at least a thousand hearts collectively. Obviously, I had better hair and fashion sense than either one of them, but that was all thanks to my mom.

Anyway, after the criminal reports came the death certificates. And after the death certificates and official police statements, I was at a loss for what to do. I knew in my gut that they were still out there, alive and raising Hell, but I couldn’t explain it nor find any evidence to disprove the official reports.

But after months and months of bum-diddly squat, a desperate hour of carnal need led me to something so fucking obvious, I wouldn’t have believed it if it has strolled up and bit me in the ass.

Dean Winchester was on Tinder.

Shrieking in surprise and triumph, I swiped right so fast that my finger would have left Grease Lightning in the dust. Yes, it was delightfully improper that I was pretending to not be related to him, but there wasn’t another option that came to mind to officially make his and Sam’s acquaintance. And I really wanted to compare notes on our father. And maybe punch one of them in the face. But I was beginning to get ahead of myself before I even got a response, my anxiety ratcheting my inner dialogue up to eleven.

 _Aw hell,_ I realized, _this is a questionable and highly unorthodox way to meet your brothers in person. What if he swipes left? What if it’s not actually Dean but a catfish?_ It took a moment to scrub my mind of an actual catfish typing on a keyboard, but then I was back on track to berating myself. _How could you think this plan was anything but sloppy at best? It’s almost inconceivable that-_

_bing!_

The doubt dissipated as soon as I peeked at my phone.

Dean had swiped right!

Wait, _Dean had swiped right._ Which meant he was probably coming into this meeting with wildly different expectations than me. Dread trickled down my spine and into my already roiling stomach.

 _Thanks a lot, brain,_ I thought darkly, willfully ignoring the warnings flashing through my head. “No use in worrying about things that probably wouldn’t happen,” I growled. It was a quote that I often fell back on, but it never gave me any solace, probably because it was said by someone who had never had anxiety.

I shook the tension out of my hands before replying to his winky-kiss emoji. I bluntly suggested that we meet up at a tiny coffee shop not far from the main shopping district of a nearby town. If worse came to worst, at least I’d have a bunch of people at hand to witness my abduction.

***********************

A few hours and a double shot of whisky later, I was standing in line at the meeting place. I’d just given the barista my order when I felt a light tap on my shoulder.

“Y/N?” Dean asked quietly, a tiny smile tugging at his lips. He’d sidled up beside me while I had been making small talk with the barista, taking me slightly by surprise.

“You must be Dean, then!” I said, a little too brightly. _Rein it in, Y/L/N,_ I chided myself. Readjusting my features, I gave him a pleasantly bland smile and gestured for him to order. After he was finished, he paid for both our drinks and took the lead to a table in a shadowy corner of the coffee shop. Plunking himself down in the booth, he gave a casual stretch and motioned for me to join him.

I pasted on another innocuous smile and took the seat opposite him. He shrugged off the slight and leaned forward, arms resting on the table. His entire body language was so overly nonchalant I was afraid he was going to fall asleep. “So tell me about yourself, Y/N,” his voice was soft and warm, his eyes twinkling suggestively.

 _Yep, big nope and a nuh-uh, that’s gotta stop._ “Well, I’m a librarian by trade, I’m a cat person who also happens to be a Sagittarius, and,” I caught my breath, my brain hunting for something a little less blunt than ‘you’re my brother.’ “You're my brother.” The words fell out of my fucking mouth before I even had a chance to soften the blow. It took me _months_ to find these guys, and my big mouth goes and forgets all forms of subtlety. The anger and frustration at Dad had built up so much inside me that I was having a hard time controlling my feelings, and now I could add embarrassment to the pile. And I never _not_ have control over my feelings. Sometimes.

Dean sat back, stunned. He started to speak, fumbled over several words, and then shut his mouth. I waited patiently while his brain processed the information. It took a few minutes for him to break the silence. “I gotta make a phone call.” Dean stood up from the booth, shaking his head in disbelief, and stepped away from the table as he tapped something into his phone.

“No worries, I’ll be here when you get back.” I waved to him, all innocence and sweetness. He glanced back at me with furrowed brows and stomped off, whispering aggressively into his phone.

“That went better than expected,” I muttered to myself as I happily accepted our coffees from a rather bemused waiter.

***********************

Half an hour later, Dean returned. He didn’t look at all surprised that I had drank his coffee for him, only a little hurt. I would have pointed out that I’d saved him the trouble of finding it lukewarm and bitter, but the tension in the air was so thick around him that I thought better of it. Behind him, I caught a glimpse of Sam, the younger brother, ducking through the door and giving the baristas a friendly wave.

“Ooh, are we having a family reunion?” I sniped, feeling annoyed that I hadn’t even had a conversation with Dean yet and he was already calling in for backup. “You’ll have to excuse me for my earlier remarks, but I don’t like to beat around the bush.”

He quirked an eyebrow at Sam and frowned. The taller one rolled his eyes and took the chair beside me. Dean slid back into the booth. I was surrounded, but that didn’t matter. What mattered most was confirmation. And I wasn’t going to get that by just staring at them. I opened my mouth to speak, but Sam beat me to it.

“This is… quite the claim, Y/N,” he started, kindly. I could almost see the gears turning in his head as he tried to process having another sibling. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying that it isn’t possible-”

Dean butted in, gruffly. “What my brother is getting at is that this isn’t exactly our first rodeo.”

Sam looked at him in worn exasperation, but shook off the comment. “Like I was saying, it isn’t impossible that you could be a long lost sibling, but… do you have any proof?”

It was my turn to raise an eyebrow. Reaching into my bag, I pulled out the few pictures I had of Dad and me, plus photos of him and Mama I had shot when they weren’t paying attention. A knot was forming in my throat, but I forced it back down with a sip of ice water.

Sam and Dean each took a few of the photos, riffling through them like they weren’t my only link to a man that I barely knew. Dean stopped at one and nudged Sam. It was the one of me and my mom standing in front of Dad’s black muscle car, big grins pasted on our faces and dripping snow cones melting in our hands. I was 13 and still enamored with the idea of having a traveling father, too self-centered and self-conscious to think about the reason why he wasn’t around like all the other dads. The bittersweet memories of disappointment and otherness began to creep into my brain, sewing the chaos of sadness in their wake.

Taking a gulp of the ice water, I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand to cover the frown pulling at the corners of my mouth. “That’s at the county fair. It was one of the longest times I’d remember ever being around him,” I said with a not-so-subtle tinge of bitterness in my voice. “He wasn’t exactly the type to come to the all-school play, or even stick around for more than a weekend.”

The brothers exchanged a look again. I was starting to get annoyed with that look; it was a secret language between siblings that I had never gotten the chance to experience because my father had kept us secret from one another. He had known that we all existed, had even _lived_ with his two families at different times, apparently. I had never thought of Dad as selfish before, but the more I thought about it, the more I could see that he was just as much of a bastard as I had believed since reaching adulthood. The angry part of me was beginning to confuse the more rational side of my brain, and I needed to get the answers I sought before my inner voices started a war inside my head.

While I sat there fighting with my inner, angrier self, Sam and Dean had been in quiet conversation, heads bent close over the picture. Dean flipped it over to the other side, and frowned at my mom’s scrawled writing on the back. “This says it was taken in the summer of ‘94, which means you’re…” he stopped, forehead scrunched as he concentrated on his fingers.

“I’m about to turn 39, if that’s what you’re trying to figure out,” I replied, my knees bouncing from the stress and anxiety ravaging my nervous system.

Dean’s eyes widened and his jaw dropped. “That can’t be right. Sammy? Right?” I could tell he was floored by the math. If I was 38, that meant I was born between their birthdays. And if that was the case, Dad had a lot more to answer for than just being crappy at his parental role.

Sorting through the photos again, Sam didn’t respond right away. He was lining them up in chronological order, studiously checking every detail.

“Sam!” Dean said sharply, nudging his brother’s elbow.

“Huh? Oh, right.” Sam’s eyes refocused on my face, but I could tell he wasn’t really seeing _me_. The evidence of my existence was plain on my features, and they would have to be fools to not see my resemblance to our father.

After a while, I began to get fidgety again. “Listen, guys,” I said as I stood up and gathered my things. “It’s been a real pleasure, but it’s getting late. Besides,” pausing, I looked both of them square in the eyes, “I’m sure you two have a lot to discuss.”

Turning, I threaded my way to the exit and made it just outside the door when Dean caught up to me.

“Y/N, wait.” He tapped my shoulder again, and I pivoted to meet his gaze. “If what you say is true, and you are in fact family. Well,” he glanced back at Sam who was coming out behind him. “We’ve got a lot to discuss.”


End file.
